


6. Attention

by TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG



Series: Twinkstober 2020 [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Come Eating, Come Marking, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Facials, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has a Big Dick, Kinktober, M/M, Manhandling, Masturbation, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Pining, Sassy Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:53:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26863969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG
Summary: Twinkstober 2020Prompt: attentionLook, Jaskier is a young man with eyes, and Geralt isright there. What is he supposed to do?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Twinkstober 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923553
Comments: 31
Kudos: 513





	6. Attention

**Author's Note:**

> This is a weird Geralt. Imagine TV!Geralt but with all the sass of Game!Geralt and you're good.

_Don't look_ , Jaskier thinks for the fifth time in the last three minutes, _just don't look_. Easy as pie. He pulls his notebook closer, grips his pen tighter, and decides to _not look_.

He lasts all of another minute.

They haven't been traveling together long, him and the taciturn Witcher, and even though the man has frequently been covered in gore, Jaskier has not yet had the privilege of seeing Geralt clean himself up.

Not until today that is. And my, _what_ a privilege it's turned out to be.

He's known right from the start that the man is more or less made of muscle, the few times he's been close to him (like when he punched him...), but seeing it with his own eyes is... something else.

They'd made camp by a river, one that Geralt assured him was free of drowners (if you can call the grunt he'd given in response to Jaskier's question reassuring), and after everything had been settled, Roach fed and a fire started, Geralt had said, "Wait here," and disappeared into the trees. The beastie of the day is apparently a couple of giant centipedes, and Jaskier has little interest in watching Geralt squash some overgrown bugs today, no matter how magnificent the Witcher is going to look doing it.

It's too humid, and he's hungry and his feet hurt.

And then Geralt had stalked back into their camp a quarter of an hour ago, covered in slime and insect bits, his face thunderous, and Jaskier forgot all about his growling stomach and his feet.

The Witcher ignored all of Jaskier's question as he methodically removed his armour, and Jaskier gave up after a while.

And now... _Well_. Now he's standing by the river next to their camp, in nothing but his braies, and is pouring water over himself with Roach's water bag, and Jaskier is _this close_ to losing it. It's like a scene from a particularly lurid dream, water droplets glistening in the sunlight as they cascade down Geralt's broad back, over his arms and sides, and Jaskier bites his lip so hard he draws blood. Geralt turns to look at him after a moment, eyebrows drawn together.

"Hurt yourself?"

Jaskier gapes at him for a second before he remembers, oh, right, Witcher senses. "Bit my lip. Sorry."

"Hmm." With that the Witcher turns away again, bends down and refills the bag and _oooh, dear gods_ , Jaskier has to very consciously redirect his eyes at his notebook.

It's not fair, is what it is. Putting him in this position. He tries to work on his newest song (nothing bloody rhymes with 'werewolf'), tries to turn some of his notes into prose, but nothing works.

His attention is inevitably drawn back to the Witcher, who is now scrubbing at his chest with a wet cloth and Melitele's tits, somebody please end his suffering already.

"You alright," Geralt asks after a moment, and Jaskier freezes. His grip on his pen is threatening to snap it in two.

"Sure! Why wouldn't I be?"

"You seem distracted."

 _Of course I'm distracted, you beautiful hunk of a man,_ he thinks. He forces a laugh and waves his hand dismissively. "Yeah, just... trying to find something to rhyme with werewolf." _And trying very hard not to jump you._

"Hmm. Can't help you there."

"I wasn't expecting you to."

Geralt's lips turn up ever so slightly before he turns back to the river, and Jaskier grows very hot under the collar. There's a spot of dirt high on Geralt's back, just beneath the top of his spine.

He can't _possibly_ reach that on his own.

Before he has thought his actions through, he's placed his pen in his notebook to mark his spot and set it aside. "You got something back there," he says as he gets to his feet. Geralt, predictably, reaches with the cloth, and misses. Jaskier pulls it out of his fingers. "Let me."

And Geralt does. He lets go of the cloth and just stands there, relaxed and waiting, and Jaskier swallows drily. Then he reaches up and gently wipes at the dirt.

"You can go harder," Geralt says, voice low, "you won't hurt me," and Jaskier's face is burning all of a sudden. Geralt's voice is neutral, as it always is when it's not one of his few moods: 'sarcastic' or 'annoyed'. Jaskier could swear, however, that it sounds almost teasing. The phrasing is certainly ripe with innuendo.

In any case, Jaskier does as he's bid, rubbing harder at the (surprisingly stubborn) dirt, and Geralt makes a noise that sounds... _very_ pleased. A noise that goes straight to Jaskier's cock, because of course it does. He tries to swallow his mounting arousal down, failing rather spectacularly, and finally steps away from Geralt with a falsely cheery, "All done," that comes out way too high.

Geralt turns around, and Jaskier presses his lips together hard, lest the whimper that sits in his mouth escape. There's water still running down the man's throat, over his chest and stomach, and _oh gods_ , the braies are white linen, and he forgot that white fabric turns see-through when wet and-

"You alright?" There's definitely a tone of amusement in the Witcher's voice, and Jaskier drags his eyes back up to his face with herculean effort. His own face must rather resemble a very ripe tomato at this point.

"Why wouldn't I be," he asks, voice cracking just a little, and Geralt's mouth tilts upwards.

"I don't make you uncomfortable, do I?"

Jaskier's eyes flicker down. Sweet Melitele. "Not... not as such."

"Hm."

He takes a step back, aware of the Witcher's eyes on him as he tries to calm down. He kneels and dips the cloth into the water, wrings it out. The crisp cold of it shocks him out of his dirty thoughts for a moment, and he stares into the flowing river as he wonders when, exactly, he lost his grip on his self-control.

Geralt walks away after a moment, presumably to dry off, and Jaskier breathes, almost a sigh of relief. Just because the Witcher is inhumanly attractive doesn't mean he can't control himself. He's been around many absurdly attractive people before, and did he fuck them just because of that?

Well.

Yes, sometimes. Quite often, in fact.

Jaskier huffs, annoyed with himself, and gets to his feet again. "Do we need more water for the-" He turns to look over at where Geralt is digging through his pack, and grinds to a screeching halt.

Geralt is naked.

Completely and _gloriously_ naked.

He's crouching beside their things, knees spread wide in the grass as he balances on the balls of his feet, and Jaskier feels very, very faint.

"Water for what," the Witcher asks without looking up, still rooting around for whatever it is he's looking for, and Jaskier opens and closes his mouth a couple of times.

"Penis," he finally blurts, and immediately wants to die when Geralt stills and looks up at him, and fuck, that is a _smirk_ if Jaskier has ever seen one. "Ah-I mean- I'll-" He stops, face burning, turns around and stalks into a little copse. "Be right back!"

Geralt doesn't laugh at him as he walks away stiffly, but he can feel the man's amused gaze on his back, so it's the same thing, really.

"Well done, Jaskier, really a _phenomenal_ job. It's like you've never seen a cock in your _life_! Gods, he's never gonna let me keep traveling with him." He's talking to himself, yes, _and who cares_ , he thinks as he makes his way through the underbrush, angry with himself and so very embarrassed. Finally the trees give way to a field, and Jaskier stops, leaning heavily against a young birch.

" _Fuck_ ," he says emphatically and kicks a stone into the grass. He'll just... have to give up all his worldly possessions, change his name (again...) and avoid the Witcher for the rest of his life, because there is no way he will ever be able to live this down. Easy peasy.

"Jaskier," comes Geralt's voice from behind him a few minutes later, and Jaskier jumps about a foot into the air and screams.

"Gods above, Geralt! Warn a fellow when you're sneaking up on me, you just about gave me a heart attack!"

Geralt is at least wearing trousers and boots now, though he still has not seen fit to put on a shirt, and he has his arms crossed and is looking far too amused. "Did I now."

"Yes! I sh- I should put a _bell_ on you!" He's still mortified but also full of adrenaline now, and he watches as his hand reaches out and pokes Geralt in the chest. The hair covering said chest is... much softer than he'd anticipated, and he lets himself get distracted by that for half a second, until he notices the smile still on the Witcher's face. He pulls his hand back as though he's been burned. "A-anyway! Let's never mention this again, shall we? I for one am starving."

He starts back in the direction of the camp, but he doesn't get far. Geralt's hand closes around his wrist as he walks past, and the Witcher uses Jaskier's momentum to spin him back around, capturing him between a tree and that unfairly solid chest of his. Jaskier makes a sound that's half gasp, half grunt as his back connects with the tree, and then there's a hand under his chin, thumb tipping his head up, and he's staring up into Geralt's golden eyes.

"Did you think I hadn't noticed," Geralt asks softly, and again Jaskier's mouth opens and closes a couple of times without words coming out. He's not often rendered speechless but the Witcher seems to have developed quite a knack for it.

"Noticed what," he finally manages, and Geralt cocks his head to the side, closes his eyes, and _inhales_. Jaskier blushes immediately. Right. Witcher senses.

"You've been staring at me ever since I came back."

"I wasn't _staring_! Just... checking in every now and again."

"That why you smelled like you were a breath away from coming in your breeches the whole time?"

"I-" Is it possible to die from embarrassment? Because he certainly feels like he just might keel over any second now. "You're... a very attractive man. Can't blame me for looking," he finally says, somewhat petulantly.

Geralt lifts an eyebrow, and Jaskier grows very hot under the collar of his chemise. "Just looking, huh?"

"Well, what else am I supposed to do when you look like this," he waves a hand vaguely, encompassing... all of Geralt, really. "And then you did the whole pouring water over yourself in the sunshine thing and- I _enjoy_ beautiful things, Geralt, and you can't just... do that," again he waves his hand up and down, "and not expect me to watch and have a _reaction_."

Geralt just watches him placidly, that look of amusement still on his face. Then he says, "Hm."

Jaskier huffs and pushes him, more annoyed than embarrassed now. It's like trying to push away a house. "Don't 'hm' me. This is awkward enough, you can stop making fun of me any-"

The Witcher leans closer, and Jaskier's mouth snaps shut. This close, he can see the different shades of gold that make up Geralt's eyes, can feel Geralt's breath brush against his cheek. It's very distracting. "Do you want to watch?"

It takes Jaskier's brain a solid four seconds to parse the Witcher's meaning, or at least what he really, _really_ hopes he means, and his eyes widen. "I- that- I mean-" He licks his lips, a fresh wave of desire washing over him, and Geralt's little smile widens almost imperceptibly. "Are we talking about- about the same thing here? Because if not I would very much like to-"

Geralt closes the space between them, pressing his lips to Jaskier's, and there's a small voice in his head that goes _'I guess we are_ ' as his knees wobble dangerously.

Maybe it's the poet in him running away with him again, but this might be one of the best kisses he's ever been on the receiving end of. Geralt's lips are soft, as is his touch as his hands wander, and Jaskier winds his arms around the Witcher's neck and whines against his lips.

There are hands on his waist, holding him still as Geralt pushes his leg between his thighs, and Jaskier had no idea being manhandled like this felt quite this nice. He moans when Geralt presses against him a little harder, when he pushes up and almost lifts Jaskier off the ground, straddling his thigh.

"Geralt," he gasps, fingers digging into those broad, broad shoulders. "Wh-what did you- ah!- mean, exactly?" Geralt is kissing down his throat now, those sharp teeth of his nipping at the soft skin every now and then, and Jaskier has to concentrate to form words that actually make sense.

The Witcher's voice is almost a purr when he says, "Just what you thought I meant," which Jaskier's brain translates into, "Want to watch me jerk off?", and the answer to that is a resounding, "Boy, do I!"

"A-alright," he says as Geralt finds a particularly sensitive spot, right where his neck meets his shoulder, and he sort of loses his train of thought for a second there as the Witcher sucks a bruise into his flesh.

Then Geralt slides his palms under his thighs and does lift him off the ground, and Jaskier gives a little squeak of surprise as he reflexively winds his legs around Geralt's waist, even though he thinks that his efforts probably aren't needed. Geralt carries him back to their camp, and Jaskier feels bold enough to return the favour of earlier, pressing kisses against the Witcher's neck as he walks. From the pleased rumble this elicits, Jaskier assumes Geralt likes it just as much as he does.

Back at the camp, Geralt gently deposits him on a rather conveniently placed tree stump, hands coming up to cup his face as he kisses him again. When he pulls away, Jaskier is panting and needy in a way he hasn't experienced in quite a while. "Stay," Geralt says, voice rough but kind, and steps back.

Jaskier feels like a raw nerve as he watches, eyes wide.

Geralt walks backwards a few steps, both to give Jaskier a better view, he assumes, and also so he can look at Jaskier. He's hard, Jaskier knows, could feel it earlier as Geralt carried him, can see it now, the line of his cock stark beneath his trousers, and now Geralt reaches down and _squeezes_. Jaskier swallows drily.

"You're not subtle," Geralt says, as he strokes his fingers along his cock firmly, and Jaskier thinks, _You want to talk to me about subtlety?_ "Want to know what you smelled like when I first met you? Excited, and reckless, and like _lust_." The word ends on a groan as he squeezes himself harder, and Jaskier shifts on his tree stump, spreads his legs to give himself more room.

"Are you surprised," he asks softly. "I mean, have you _seen_ yourself?" He tears his gaze away from Geralt's hand and looks up at his face again. "You were the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen, and just trying to get into your pants was my plan b, if you hadn't let me come with you."

Geralt smirks, then starts unbuttoning his trousers, slowly, one button at a time. Jaskier reaches between his own thighs and squeezes himself, bites his lip. "I thought about it," Geralt says, and Jaskier's brows rise. "Thought about taking you into a room at that inn, and fucking you so hard you wouldn't be able to walk." His smile sharpens. "So you couldn't follow me."

He can't help it, Jaskier has to laugh. "That would've been awfully practical, wouldn't it?" He licks his lips as Geralt finishes with the buttons, swallows when he realises the Witcher isn't wearing braies, just the trousers. "Why didn't you?"

"Turned out to be useful," Geralt murmurs, and even though it barely passes for praise, the words send a warm tingle down Jaskier's back.

Then Geralt reaches into his trousers and pulls out his cock, hooks the fabric behind his balls, and Jaskier goes back to staring.

There's no other way of saying it: Geralt is _big_. Not inhumanly huge, like the rumours he's heard saying Witchers have cocks the size of a normal man's forearm, but still - big, and thick with it. Jaskier's mouth waters, and he swallows heavily as Geralt strokes himself, slowly, clearly for show.

Jaskier, too, is hard, has been more or less all afternoon, and he _aches_ with it. He's sure Geralt must be able to see it on his face, the now undisguised desire. For a while, they just look at each other, as Geralt keeps stroking himself, slow, almost teasingly, with just a few fingers and his thumb instead of his whole hand, and Jaskier bites his lip, rubs at himself almost absentmindedly.

Geralt cocks an eyebrow at him, as if to say 'Like what you see?', and Jaskier bites his lip again. He wants to touch, really, wants to taste and feel and- Well, quite frankly, he wants Geralt to make good on his idea of fucking him so hard he can't walk. He wants it rather a lot, in fact.

The Witcher must sense his growing arousal, as his smile widens ever so slightly, and he finally closes his hand around his cock and starts fucking his fist in earnest, eyes never leaving Jaskier's. It's... oddly intimate, the constant eye contact, and really, that's something he really didn't expect from someone as emotionally distant as Geralt.

Jaskier squirms. He needs to come _so badly_.

"Geralt," he whines after a while, squeezing himself through his breeches, " _please_ ," and Geralt's mouth twitches as his hand slows ever so slightly.

"Tell me what you want," he says hoarsely, and Jaskier shifts restlessly, eyes glued to the way Geralt's cock dribbles pre-come over his fingers, and he tips forward a little.

"Want to taste you," he gasps, and Geralt's hand tightens around his cock. He crosses the space between them in three strides and all of a sudden he's right there, so close Jaskier can smell him, that constant scent of leather and the woods that seems to always cling to the man, and now also what he can only call the scent of sex. His eyes flutter and he licks his lips, and Geralt's hand is in his hair and _oh yes._

"Open your mouth," Geralt says, his voice strained now as he continues to stroke himself slowly, and Jaskier obeys instantly. He opens his mouth wide, sticks out his tongue, too, and Geralt's grip on his hair tightens. "That's it," he groans, tilts his hips forward until the tip of his cock rests on Jaskier's tongue.

Jaskier stares, up the line of Geralt's body, watches the way his eyes darken when he looks back at him, how he bares his teeth as he continues to stroke himself. He wants to take him into his mouth, wants to _gag_ on his cock, but that's not what Geralt is giving him, and so he just sits there, pretending that he's not so hard that it feels as though he might burst. Lets Geralt do as he pleases, and watches.

The man's usually so impassive face is transformed, brows drawn together and teeth flashing, and he's striking. Jaskier would happily do anything he needs to put that look on Geralt's face as often as humanly possible.

His hands are undoing the buttons of his breeches as he looks up, and Geralt almost growls, his hand moving faster. The head of his cock slips further into Jaskier's mouth, and he realises he's drooling. "I'm going to come on your face," Geralt grinds out, and Jaskier's eyes flutter. _Please_ , he thinks, _do it_. He has pulled his own cock free, mirrors Geralt's movements. He's almost there anyway, he has neither the time nor the need for gentleness.

"D'you want that," Geralt asks through gritted teeth, and Jaskier arches his back and moans, meets the Witcher's heated gaze. Nods, as far as the hand still in his hair lets him. "Fuck, Jask..." It's more of a groan, and then he's pulling back a little, his cock slipping out of Jaskier's mouth entirely, and then he's coming, hot seed painting Jaskier's face, over his cheek and nose, and he keeps his mouth open, his tongue stretched out. " _Fuck_ ," Geralt says again when he notices, the hand in Jaskier's hair pulling him forward and then Geralt's cock is back in his mouth, the last spurts of his release hitting his tongue, and Jaskier moans around it. His own hand speeds up, just a few more strokes really, and he's coming, his free hand reaching up and grabbing Geralt's wrist.

It's just his own hand, and Geralt has barely touched him, really, and yet it's one of the best orgasms he's had in a good long while.

Geralt slips out of his mouth after a moment, releases his hair, and Jaskier is surprised, even in his post-orgasmic bliss, when the Witcher cups his face and tilts his head up, and kisses him. He must taste himself in Jaskier's mouth, and Jaskier moans and clings to his arms.

When Geralt finally pulls back, he drops to his knees between Jaskier's thighs, smiling. "Got something there," he says softly, slides the tips of his fingers through the seed on Jaskier's face, and Jaskier, feeling bold, opens his mouth. Geralt looks stunned for a moment, and then he looks _feral_. He scoops up some of his seed and feeds it to Jaskier, and Jaskier hums around his fingers. Geralt doesn't stop until every drop is gone, and then he pulls Jaskier off the tree stump and into his lap.

Jaskier lets himself be held like that, and kissed, and after a while Geralt's mouth starts wandering again. Jaskier tips back his head, looking up at the sky, and smiles.


End file.
